


I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You

by noblet



Category: Fake News RPF
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Cigarettes, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 18:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7813078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblet/pseuds/noblet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Fuck it</i>, Jon thinks. He steps forward, grabs Stephen by the collar of his Sondheim t-shirt with both hands, and kisses him hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You

**Author's Note:**

> Title is the name of [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rOV6I4fYnvQ) by Black Kids.

“I need to blow off some steam,” Jon mumbles, eyes wistful, and Stephen grabs a coat without another word. He follows him out of the building towards the blanket of the cold night sky, breathing puffs of air that turn nearly translucent under the street lamps.

Jon’s mouth that night tastes of cigarettes and the mint gum that’s hidden in his desk, untouched by anyone else except Stephen, whose frenzied fingers had rummaged around in a panic the week before, searching for something else.

Stephen walks him home afterwards- all the way to the twenty-second floor of a building he can't yet afford to live in. He thinks of inviting himself in, searches his conscience and then changes his mind.

“Cigarettes will kill you. Please stop,” Stephen says instead.

Jon laughs and then looks at him with uncharacteristic solemn consideration. “I’ll think about it,” he says and closes the door without another word.

=====

Steve’s the one that suggests improv classes.

“What, for all of us?” Jon asks over the table. The question hangs in the air before Stephen decides to speak up.

“Just one session,” Stephen smiles, backing Steve’s idea. “We know a place.”

So Jon brings all of the correspondents to a ratty bar on the corner of 23rd and Saxon, where they file down the stairs begrudgingly.

_Yes, and._

It’s the only piece of advice Jon is given.

He twitches in the center of the room, reaching for ideas that pull away from him until Stephen walks on stage left, punch drunk, cheeks red. “So, Jon,” he teases, “You wanna kiss me?” He stares at him with taunting eyes, a slight smirk on his face. If Jon is anything, he's anything but a risk-taker.

The atmosphere in the room is loose due to too many rounds of drinks and Jon- idiot that he is- doesn’t think before he speaks.

“Yes, and…” Jon says, then freezes. Steve and Nancy begin to snicker in the corner.

He should be embarrassed. He's not.

_Fuck it_ , Jon thinks. He steps forward, grabs Stephen by the collar of his Sondheim t-shirt with both hands, and kisses him hard.

Juvenile catcall-esque whistles fill the air as he presses Stephen’s lips to his, and Jon feels no shame.

Monday morning will come along and nobody will remember what had happened. Under the guise that they had one too many drinks, Jon will laugh and shake his head, deflect the conversation to something else.

Afterwards, Jon walks back to his apartment, cigarette between his lips- still warm.

=====

Stephen falls asleep right away.

Jon stays up, stares at the empty ceiling. He's on the floor and Stephen’s on the bed, thirty floors above Washington DC in some name brand hotel and all he can hear are the soft breaths that cause the rise and fall of Stephen’s bare chest. The AC is kicking up for the eighth time when Jon’s mind starts to bother him.

They'd kissed that night, too. Then they’d walked out of the bathroom like nothing had happened, went back out on the field and talked to their co-workers like nothing had happened, walked with Steve and Nancy and Ed and Sam back to their rooms and back to their own like nothing had happened.

It's five AM when he decides he won't be able to fall asleep. He walks out onto the balcony, sticks a cigarette between his lips, and watches as the morning sky shifts from purple to orange to blue.

Stephen wakes up two hours later, places a kiss on Jon’s neck before he remembers he probably shouldn’t, then asks where they’re meeting Ed and Sam for breakfast before they get on the plane home.

=====

“One book a week? Really? How do you do it?”

“It’s not as impressive as you think,” Jon says. “I only retain the information for like, thirty minutes. And then the interview is over.”

“You know,” Stephen says thoughtfully, which is strange considering his hair is gelled up to the character. He can flit back from Stephen to “Stephen” so effortlessly now Jon sometimes can’t tell who he’s talking to. “I could help you read some.”

It's been a year since he started wondering how much he actually knows about the man in front of him.

_Did you know he can sing? Sam asked one time._

_His ear’s like that because it’s deaf._

_He had a boyfriend in high school._

_He likes his coffee black._

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were coming onto me, Colbert,” Jon yawns, leans towards Stephen with his palms cupping his cheeks purely because it's getting late and the gesture fits.

“Trust me,” Stephen says, tossing a tennis ball high in the air before it hits the ceiling and lands back in his palm, “if I were, you'd know.”

=====

He’s married now. He's married now and Jon smiles like it doesn't hurt, tells jokes at his wedding, kills it when he's giving his speech as Stephen's best man.

He finds himself outside after claiming faux claustrophobic anxiety. He shivers beneath the marquee of the venue and hears the heavy door open and close behind him, Stephen’s familiar stride sounding like musical notes to Jon’s tuned ears.

They stand there for a bit, Stephen, lingering in the corner of his vision before he takes a deep breath and lets it escape through his cheeks.

There's the faint _thump thump thump_ of an 80s song resonating from the hall where Stephen _was_. Where Stephen _should_ be.

They newlywed stands up so they're standing shoulder to shoulder. Stephen’s arms are crossed. Jon tries not to look on the wedding band that seems so fresh on his finger.

“I did love you, you know,” Stephen says.

_Well, what happened?_  Jon thinks.

Instead, Jon smiles, palms the packet of cigarettes in his suit pocket, wonders how many he’ll burn through before morning comes.

“I did, too.”

 


End file.
